


pale blue eyes. (three-shot)

by wrightvelvet



Category: BLACKPINK (Band), Red Velvet (K-pop Band)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Inspired by Call Me By Your Name, Jendy, Light Smut, consider it a slowburn ?, dash of fluff, i have no words anymore, inspired by a song, slowburn, uh-gain uh-facking-gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:22:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27912967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrightvelvet/pseuds/wrightvelvet
Summary: where a friendship blossoms, and affection is an inevitable threat to their bond.
Relationships: Jennie Kim/Son Seungwan | Wendy, Kang Seulgi/Son Seungwan | Wendy
Kudos: 7





	pale blue eyes. (three-shot)

**Author's Note:**

> its aesthetic tones are heavily inspired by Call Me By Your Name (2017)   
> this is also an open love letter to my favorite song, Pale Blue Eyes by The Velvet  
> Underground.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> [CROSSPOSTED IN AFF!]

_**1** _ **VICIOUS**

Wendy

**SOMEWHERE IN DINAN, FRANCE. 1986.**

**THERE’S NOTHING BETTER** than describing _her_ as an elusive, cold _bitch._ I swore my little decency was thrown out of the window upon her arrival at our countryside villa. It was her stone-cold gaze that didn’t sit right. 

It started when her cab first arrived. I was in our yard, under the umbrella shade, radio playing _Lou Reed_. Then the sound of a horn, I perked to it. The vehicle door swung open, came out a man—had smile so much in his life, wrinkles formed on corners of his cheeks. My father’s colleague, Leon, also fellow friend at a university far away. 

Then there she was—dark brown hair in a bun, white blouse left two buttons undone, denim shorts, flawless skin. Her tight grin feigned gratitude to my father, shaking hands as the comrades began their catch-up. In between, she blurted along the lines of _hope to god, this ends soon._ It was curt, sleaze _._ She could’ve put on a fake show, she’d still be bearable. Good thing my father took it as a humor.

Sometimes, it would take me one glimpse to dislike a person or not. I don’t hate, too early of it. I rely on intuition before concluding—which warned me of the girl’s brief arrogance. Confident, brash, damned presence to my solitude. Her denouement would ultimately be similar to the past visitors we’ve had; new person, not intriguing, no spontaneity for me to befriend.

On the other hand, some guests were more determined of their studies. Rewriting essays, printing out documents, improving their journalism voice. I couldn’t pinpoint on why someone like her would consider herself as that type of student.

Whatever she had in plan, my expectations about it was extremely low. Though, my father was servile—who strived to educate and inspire, make active impacts. He’d offer anyone a chance to learn out of a boring staycation, unpretentious of what he had where others lack.

It also meant being liberal for 2 months with the guests. Should I be the one putting up a show?

**“** Wendy, come inside! Meet your houseguest! **”** My mom called from the back door. I rolled my eyes, tossed my book on the table, then went back to the vicinity.

Our rest house was vast, refreshing—medieval and royalty touch in most furniture. Renaissance paintings by unknown artists hung on walls, other small knick-knacks on display but never captivated me away from my favorite, the library.

The grand foyer and alleyways were the most haunting when dark. Shallow fizzes, freezing everywhere—the hostility of supernatural. I was 10 when my mother told me it was one of my grandparents’ spirits, taking short detours from the afterlife. 

I walked by the entrance hall, where I met the visitors.

**“** The university’s on a strike for a month again. **”** Leon examined the place. He turned back to my father, **“** Shameful incident. It’s about those posh clubs and their hazing rituals. **”**

My father huffed, **“** Bummer. **”** He folded his arms, **“** Given the last few months of investigation, not a single evidence was claimed true. I’m starting to doubt if these lads are doing their damn job. **”**

They both laughed.

Meanwhile, she was allured by the extravagance of our home. Enticed by the majestic chandelier above us, her eyes dazzled from the torches. The light carved her prominent features, reminded me of oldened statues in a museum. There was something about it, about _her_ but I refuse to dive in it more. 

**“** There you are, _Mon Ch_ _è_ _rie_! **”** My father placed an arm around my shoulder. I pursed my lips, timid by the sudden attention on me.

He continued, **“** You remember Leon? This is his daughter, _Jennie_. **”**

I smiled, _nice_ enough for them. **“** Wendy. _Enchante._ **”** I shook hands with her. Her palm was warm against mine. A vain smirk curled from her lips. My gut flipped; I almost dropped my smile from her cockiness.

My father sensed my reaction when I gave her a subtle _look_. I wasn’t tough to read, but she deserved to misread me starting here. We wouldn’t be going anywhere from then. 

He leaned to me, whispered, **“** _Sois gentille_. **” (** Be nice. **)**

_Only if she showed me to._

The next was I guided Jennie to the guest’s room—located across where my bedroom was. Small, sophisticated, humid than my own. Whenever it was vacant, it was a temporary storage for clothes that I’d help my mother fold and separate.

I shifted the curtains apart, sunshine patterned through the windows to the sheets. Jennie didn’t act against the heat, as she flopped on the mattress rather exhausted.

Moment of silence. She suddenly mumbled, **“** Not a talker yourself? **”**

**“** It stays that way. **”** I deadpanned, tying the curtains still, **“** I’ll call you for dinner later. **”**

She didn’t bother with it, already fallen asleep in the soft pillows. Her cheeks mushed together, snoring like a child. If she were kinder like this, guarantee my forethought to have disappeared sooner. I hitched a laugh before exiting.

**[ . . . ]**

It was dinner. My mother insisted to let Jennie rest for the night, so I’ve settled in comfortably. I took the napkin on the table and spread it over my thighs, **“** She’s obviously another disrespect. **”** I hissed. It should’ve stayed at the back of my head.

My mother wasn’t fond of my snide remarks over meals. **“** _Osti. . ._ **”** She passed the bowl of onion soup to my father, **“** Perhaps, she’s shy. **”**

**“** Just watch _._ **”** I served _chicken confit_ on my plate, **“** She’ll act just like everyone else from that stupid, crippled school. Bid us a goodbye or not at all. **”**

**“** Jennie may be a lot. Leon told me so. **”** My father poured the soup in his bowl, concerned but still calm, **“** But she’s genuinely looking forward to assist us and improve herself. You’ll grow to like her. **”**

I sighed, giving him a dead eye, **“** What if I don’t? **”**

**“** Don’t assume you will when you don’t have a reason to. **”**

Maybe because her demeanor stuck to me like thorns. I didn’t want to part my tunnel vision of her. I wanted to pluck something from her, unearth a new visage—desperate to cease her disdain. There was no use of moving beyond that.

I normally stooped higher, guarded of the emotions I have.

It was different with her.

She made me mad. I’m uncertain if it was directed on her. It began over our first breakfast, where she fawned over Leon’s interpretative essay about _Edgar Allan Poe_ and the nature of human fear—thus, becoming one herself with her profound insights. Not the kind that haunts me under the bed, nor claws on my skin. She was simply an introspective threat.

She made me eager of her. I still didn’t move nor speak.

I pretended not to say _good mornings_ or _good nights_ when the days gone by, only ever talked hollow of my interests when my parents were around. _I read, write, draw,_ then excuse myself out of mere bashfulness. I was conscious whether I’ve spilled much or little for her to hate me more than I do.

On a Friday afternoon, I strayed my focus from my book to the French windows. Jennie was in a summer tank top, same pair of denim shorts, and flipflops. She wore her shades, then pedaled away with Hector’s bike—our gardener. So much for being a tourist than being an academe.

How could anyone look so divine and pure in a tank top? Even on a sticky day, I would risk on long sleeves to cover the freckles of my skin. Hers would be smooth to touch, no imperfections but my lips painting it. 

**“** Wan-ah! **”**

The call flinched me. I bounced back to Earth, unshackled the thoughts away.

A bell chimed. There was lively sight of another woman in her bicycle. She was someone out of a _Goldilocks and the Three Bears_ tale, together with her little eyes and ebony locks.

I shut my book, leaned over the wooden frame of the windows. **“** Ah, the mistress of _Kang_ family is late to accommodate the mademoiselle on her freak show of a guest. **”**

Seulgi raised her eyebrow, then gazed at where Jennie had cycled off, **“** She’s far from a freak show to me. **”**

**“** You missed on a lot. Last Sunday, she big-mouthed my father in front of the neighbors. **”**

**“** Maybe, you’re just jealous of the way she says things. **”**

**“** Hey! **”** I tapped her crown with my book, too hard that made her wince, **“** At least I don’t brag about the things I say. **”**

**“** Whatever you say, your _majesty_. Get off your arse! we’re watching the sunset today. **”**

**[ . . . ]**

Seulgi and I biked through the quaint village—ramparts out of an epic adventure story, timbered and bricked homes, asymmetrical infrastructures, cobblestone grounds, shrub-filled windows, and floral intricates. The sun was cozy, like an affectionate embrace. The fresh breeze cascaded my brown locks. I zoomed by a busker, feeling and strumming his guitar in the tunes of the song— _Human Nature_.

This little town brought out my classical dreams. The space had more fluidity. It doesn’t rampage with crashes and pollution—solely tranquil and regenerative. It was crystal clear to taste. I liked to absorb the simplicity of the old-fashioned attributes, bounded my heart for it than urban cities. 

Then I squeezed my brakes, drifted in a halt.

_Why hello_?

Jennie’s inside a coffee shop. Her gummy grin shining at the dirty-blond haired waiter, indulged in his flirts. She was writing on something—A number? Letter address? _What a traitor_.

**“** _Allons-y, mademoiselle_! Let’s go! **”** Seulgi yelled. 

I had the urge to abandon Seulgi and probe into Jennie’s schemes with the man. For the sake of my skepticism, or for my envy? My paralysis sunk when she saw me.

I kicked on my pedals, rode away as if I was a passerby. I reached by the docks where Seulgi was. The wind was cooler when nearer by the sea. Waves rippling, seagulls cawing, and sailboats at bay. 

I parked my bike next to hers against the pillars as Seulgi dawdled toward a boat. There was a man, geared up in lifejacket and gloves, hanging by the side deck.

I frowned, I didn’t recognize him, **“** Uncle Nikolai’s not on front? **”**

**“** He gave me a free chance on my own. Second time! **”** Then she hopped on deck, greeted the man on board.

I followed her, **“** _Bonjour._ **”** I nodded to the man then gazed up high at the silver pole that stood with the rolled flags.

We were off land minutes later. The flags were bloated from the air, hauling us far from the coast. The skipper became blinding under the radiant glow, glitters pampered the swaying waters. I beamed at the clarity of nature surrounding me. Like my mind was with them, laid out unlimited vacancy to breathe and relax in.

I bent over the rails, then Seulgi came to my side. Her hand above her brow ridge, shedding the brightness from her vision, **“** It never bores me, you know? **”**

I chuckled, **“** It doesn’t scare you to be here either way. It’s almost like your habitat. **”**

**“** It’s better than caving inside a hot room like you. **”**

I shouldered her playfully, **“** It also explains why you didn’t visit few days ago. **”**

She pouted, **“** Aww. **”** Then she bowed in a witty chivalrous kind, **“** Then I apologize for my absence. Fret not! I’ve come to compensate my dearest companion by sailing with you until the night falls. **”** She lifted my hand. She was about to kiss it, but she flicked it harshly instead.

**“** Ow! **”** I yanked it back, **“** That’s not how you compensate! **”**

She sniggered, sitting on the side deck, **“** So. . .are you gonna tell me more about _her_? **”**

I shrugged, **“** _Decent’_ s already enough. **”**

Seulgi suspected my derision. She grew immune to how I smite, she had a lot to offer just by lending her ears and her input to me, **“** Of course. You don’t like her, do you? **”**

**“** She’s just another bore. **”**

**“** But have you talked to her? **”**

I poked the inside of my cheek, **“** Just a few chit-chats, here and there. **”**

**“** About what? **”**

**“** Nothing much. . . **”** I trailed off, drew away the rails as I paced. So much to tell, yet guilt swelled me when I tried to address it. It deepened my dislike on Jennie. Maybe I’m starting to mix it up and it wasn’t dislike after all.

She tilted her head, **“** What is it? **”**

I avoided Seulgi’s gaze, arms crossed, **“**. . .I don’t know. For some reason, she’s difficult to face than the last ones. **”**

**“** Difficult? Or intimidating? **”**

**“** Is there any difference? **”** I faced her.

**“** Maybe it’s _you_ who’s seeing it as difficult. This isn’t supposed to be an issue until she came. **”**

I scoffed, disbelieved, **“** What are you saying, Seulgi. . . **”**

**“** I’m saying, you used to be indifferent of the previous academes. **”**

**“** I’ve always been indifferent. **”**

**“** Then why did you say it’s difficult to face her? **”**

I had nothing after that. I let the question sink in me, but it ached me. Seulgi didn’t press further, which left me with a turbulence that flashes on every look. 

She cracked a grin, held out a hand to me, **“** C’mere. Relax a little. **”**

I returned with a sly smirk, then laced my arm around hers as we drew closer to the sun.

**[ . . . ]**

For once, on a Tuesday morning, I conquered the strange tension in me.

I was in my father’s office after courteously asking for his approval. I was surprised to find Jennie, anchored in his typewriter. My fingers crawled across the bookshelves, merely concealing my appearance from her.

I stopped at a familiar name between book scratches and plastic holes, **“** Did you know the first ever Philippine writer was a woman? **”**

The tapping of keyboard stopped. Her feline gaze lifted from the device, **“** Pardon? **”**

**“** _Paz Marquez-Benitez_. **”** I pulled the book from the compartment. It was an old copy of the female author’s biography and literature works. Thick, wrinkled, as if scrounged from an aftermath disaster. **“** Her famous works were praised among others in the 1920s, especially _Dead Stars_. **”**

I traced my eyes on the book cover, enjoying the short astonishment on her face. I sauntered near her, as she grew faithful to my rambles. **“** It talks about longing for a love, only to recognize that dream is nothing more than dead as stone. **”**

**“** I’ve never heard of such work until now. **”** She sloped forth, arms against the study table. Have I drawn her to me with little effort?

I beamed, sliding the book toward her, **“** It could explain why I can’t come near you. **”**

She frowned, **“** May I have a clue why? **”**

**“** Figure out yourself. **”**


End file.
